Fierce (Not Quite a Billionaire)

by Rosalind James

  “I never said you were a mistress.” He was following the signs to the airport, still so controlled, nothing in his face betraying emotion. Like this didn’t matter. Like it was an inconvenience and nothing more. And maybe he could even manage to make that be true. But I couldn’t.

  “I don’t think you have to say it,” I said. “Because it’s obvious. I’ve wanted to...I’ve wanted to try. I don’t know how to do a relationship either, because I never lived with a...a good one. I never even saw the possibility of one I would want until I met you, and my life was too complicated anyway. I knew nobody would want to take that on. I’d be another person with their...with their hand out, like you said. And then I met you, and I did want it, and you’ve been so sweet to Karen, and I let myself think...” I stopped myself. He knew what I’d let myself think. “Well, anyway. I did. Being with you made me want to try, but you can’t try yourself, so that makes us a one-way street. I can’t go down a one-way street with no way of getting back again. I can’t afford to.”

  “Don’t know how you can say that.” His lips were barely moving, because he’d wrapped himself even more tightly under control. Because he felt something and didn’t want to, or because he didn’t want to deal with my emotions, didn’t want the drama. It didn’t matter which. The result was exactly the same. “I’ve tried,” he said. “I’ve done as much as I can.”

  “Hemi,” I tried to explain. “I’m not blaming you. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine. Or it’s neither. It just is. It’s that I’m going to keep falling in love with you. I can’t help myself, because you’re...you’re what I want. You’re kind, and strong, and sweet, and fierce, and—and I can’t even say what. You’re what I want, and I can’t stop wanting it. And then I’m going to hear you say things like that, things that I already knew were true, and they’re going to keep hurting. All the more because I do already know them, because it’s the same thing again and again, but it hurts the same way again and again, too. And there are no shoes, and no roses, and no trips to wonderful places that can make up for that.”

  “And that’s it.” His face wasn’t looking impassive anymore. I was pretty sure he was getting angry again, and suddenly, I was so tired.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s it. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s a mismatch. You need to find somebody who wants what you want, and maybe sometime I will, too. Maybe so.”

  I didn’t believe it, but I also knew that things were never as bad as they felt at the time. At least I hoped they weren’t, because this felt so bad right now, I’d have said I couldn’t stand it.

  Broken hearts didn’t kill a person, though. They just hurt. But then, lots of things hurt.

  “Right,” he said. “If that’s how you feel.”

  “Yes. It’s how I feel.”

  There was silence in the car for long minutes, until I saw the airport sign flash by. The trip home was going to be fairly different from the way I’d imagined it. I couldn’t have handled this a whole lot worse if I’d tried.

  “And in yet another example of how I don’t know how to do relationships,” I said, trying to smile, “not only did I say the L-word when I knew you didn’t feel the same way—now I have to fly across the country with you. I should’ve broken up in the car on the way from the airport. I just realized that.”

  He didn’t smile. “Probably.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t normally do breakups.” Somehow, I still wanted to talk to him. Some part of my stupid heart still wanted to connect, to pretend we were friends, to make this all right. “Because you don’t do relationships. I’m guessing they get a message from Josh instead.”

  I got another quick glance across the car for that, and I sighed. “Yeah. Right. Well, you live and learn, I guess. But next time, when she slaps you? Don’t give her the shoes. Let her go.”

  How Low Can You Go?

  All that was bad enough. Waiting at the airport, flying for six hours in a first-class seat beside Hemi, sitting beside him in the car behind Charles and barely speaking, because there was nothing left to say—it was more than bad enough.

  It got worse, too, because between my cramps and my aching heart, I didn’t sleep much Sunday night. I only fell into a doze in the early hours of the morning, and my middle-of-the-night thoughts weren’t any fun at all. And when I woke up, Karen was in the bathroom with another headache, and it was a bad one.

  I shouldn’t have gone to San Francisco at all, and I knew it. I should have called the doctor on Friday and gotten her in there, no matter what I’d had to do. I hadn’t done it, though, because I’d wanted to go with Hemi more. That thought didn’t help a thing either.

  Well, I hadn’t called, and I’d been wrong, but I was going to call today, and I was going to insist that they...I didn’t even know what. That they check. That they find out what was wrong with her. If it was migraines, why wasn’t the medicine working? And if it wasn’t, what was it? I didn’t have good insurance yet, but somehow, we were going to have to figure it out, because Karen couldn’t go on like this.

  She was late to school, and I was more than half an hour late to work, because I couldn’t leave until I knew she could at least make it. And there I was, walking in late after having been gone all Friday afternoon, and after the look Martine had given me when she’d informed me that Marketing had asked to ‘borrow’ me. But surely, considering all the extra time I’d put in over the months I’d worked here, a half hour wouldn’t matter. Surely.

  Nathan popped his prairie-dog head over my cubicle as soon as I’d hung up my coat. “How was the special duty in Marketing?” he asked. “Funny that I went up there and didn’t see you. I’m guessing you were in a special meeting. An executive meeting, maybe?”

  “You can stop now,” I said, pulling my laptop out of its bag. “They won’t be requiring my services again.”

  “Oh.” His handsome, mobile face changed, and there was a look of sympathy in the dark eyes that I really, really didn’t need to see right now. “Sorry. Short and sweet, huh?”

  “Well, short, anyway. I don’t know about sweet.”

  He made a face. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So—consolatory glass of wine tonight? And no,” he went on when I glanced sharply at him, “I’m not hitting on you. And don’t ask me whether it’s because I’m too decent a guy, or because I don’t think it’d work. I’m going for the ‘decent’ one. Self-delusion’s the best kind.”

  I had to smile a little at that. “Thanks. But I can’t.”

  “I’ll even buy,” he coaxed. “Noble of me, under the circumstances.”

  I was about to explain about Karen’s illness when Martine glided into view on her stratospheric heels, her entire sleek form radiating feminine power, and something more menacing, too. The prairie dog popped straight down into his burrow again, and I sat down, opened my laptop, and tried to pretend that I’d been here all along.

  It didn’t work. She stopped in front of my cubicle, and, no, she didn’t look happy.

  “I’d like to see you in my office, please,” she said.

  I grabbed my laptop in the hope that this might be work-related. But then, what else could it be? Nobody knew. Did they? Would Hemi have arranged for me to be fired after all? Surely not. He could be cold, but he was never cruel. He wouldn’t do that. Surely not.

  My heart beat out an apprehensive tattoo all the same as I followed her elegant back. If not that—could I have done something wrong? More wrong than usual?

  “Please. Sit,” she said as soon as the door closed behind us, and I did my best to breathe. And sat.

  “I’ll be frank.” She took a graceful seat behind her desk. “After Friday—I’m concerned about you. I hope that you aren’t letting your personal life get…away from you.”

  You have no idea. But this didn’t sound like Hemi had told her to fire me. The relief of that almost knocked me over, and I had to force myself to refocus. “I know I was late today,” I said. “I’m
sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  She waved a slim red-nailed hand. “It’s not so much the tardiness,” she said, and I flushed a little. That made it sound like I’d been late constantly, instead of once. “It’s more the...special arrangements.” Her glance was knowing, as if she were aware of exactly what I’d been doing this weekend, and exactly whom I’d been doing it with.

  “Is there a problem with my work?” The special arrangements are over, I didn’t say, because there was one way this situation could get worse. If I cried, or told the truth—either one would be so much worse, and doing both would be total humiliation, and career suicide, too, I had a feeling.

  I wished for the hundredth time that I hadn’t taken this job. Quitting wasn’t an option, though. Not when I so desperately needed the salary, and, even more than that, the health insurance that was only ten days away from taking effect.

  Now, Martine frowned, and I fought to keep my breathing under control. I could tell something bad was coming. Please don’t let me lose my job, I prayed. Please, no. Please don’t make me have to crawl to Hemi and beg.

  “I’m going to give you a piece of advice,” she said, and my panic receded, at least for the moment. “Just because you remind me of myself, not so long ago. Be careful. I know you feel…special, right now. But you’re not.”

  I tried to keep my face neutral, but knew I was failing utterly as she went on. “You think that if you follow all the rules, if you do everything just right, it will last. But it won’t. Nothing you do, nothing you say will matter in the end, because you’re just one in a line that stretches a long, long way back. And one that will stretch a long way into the future, too. So…” She looked at me and smiled. “I’ll just say—don’t quit your day job.”

  She stood up, then, and went for the door, and I scrambled to my feet. “But for now,” she said, “I suppose you’ll do what you have to do, because you don’t really have a choice, do you? You’ll go where you’re taken, and you’ll do what you’re told. You’ll take…advantage of the situation. Who could blame you?”

  Her gaze swept over me, lingered on my feet. On Hemi’s shoes, which I’d worn today despite everything. She didn’t have to say anything else. I got it.

  I did my best not to stumble over my heels on the way back to my cubicle, fought back the stupid tears that insisted on rising despite all my efforts, and began to go through my assignments, to plan my day.

  Everyone might think I was a fraud, but I didn’t have to be one. I would know the truth, even if I were the only one who did. I would keep my self-respect, even if I couldn’t keep anything else. Or anyone else.

  At 9:00 sharp, I called the doctor. And at 9:05, I went back into Martine’s office and told her I’d be late again the next day. And it wasn’t any fun at all.

  Complications

  On Monday, I told myself that Hope was right. It was never going to work, the whole thing was nothing but distracting, and I had more important things to do anyway. Things I’d neglected because I’d wanted to spend the weekend with her, which wasn’t one bit like me. So I’d thrown myself back into it and tried not to think about the frozen look on her face as she’d been folding that blanket, the way she’d smoothed the corners with fingers that had trembled. Or anything she’d said, because it didn’t matter. None of it was news, we were both better off, and it was over.

  On Tuesday, I told myself the same thing. I buried myself in meetings, in spreadsheets, in decisions. But when I set my laptop aside at last and turned out the light in the bed where we’d made love, I lost the battle not to look at the pictures on my phone. And to think about Hope.

  Hope in her blue dress, fast asleep with her head on my chest and my arm around her, on the boat in Paris. Hope and Karen on Women’s Wednesday, a snap I’d taken without them noticing. Karen with her feet in Hope’s lap, Hope’s hand stroking her sister’s leg. So much sweetness, and so much strength.

  I looked, and I heard her voice again despite all my efforts.

  It’s that I’m going to keep falling in love with you. I can’t help myself, because you’re...you’re what I want. You’re kind, and strong, and sweet, and fierce, and—and I can’t even say what. You’re what I want, and I can’t stop wanting it.

  I couldn’t stop wanting it, either. That was exactly the problem. I wanted to be the man who could have pulled off at the next exit and taken her in my arms. I wanted to be the man who could have said all the things she needed to hear, and could have meant them.

  But I wasn’t that man, and she was right about something else, too. That we were a mismatch. She needed somebody who could love her back the way she deserved to be loved. And that wasn’t me.

  On Wednesday, I went down to the Publicity department. I needed to talk to Martine about Shades of V, now that the deal was about to be signed. Of course, I could have had her come to my office. But if I wanted to see that Hope was there, that she was all right...well, of course I did. I didn’t want to text her, much less call her. Prolonging all of this would be a mistake. I’d always believed in a clean break. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to make sure she was all right.

  Women’s Wednesday. Tonight, she’d be sitting on the couch with Karen. Karen’s feet in Hope’s lap, Hope’s hands stroking over her sister’s legs, giving her that love that came so easily to her. They’d be doing all of that, as long as Hope was all right. I needed to check, that was all.

  Except that she wasn’t there. I walked by the cubicle and cast a casual glance inside. No laptop. No papers. No coat. Nothing.

  I couldn’t have said what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking anything. I was walking into Martine’s office without knocking, having her look up with a frown from her phone call, then end the conversation with a hasty word before turning to me.

  “Yes?” she asked. “What is it?”

  I thought about being subtle. For about a tenth of a second. “Hope,” I said. “Where is she?”

  Something in Martine’s expression shifted. “She was out half the day yesterday, and she hasn’t come in at all today. She isn’t eligible for sick leave yet, and this isn’t acceptable. I know you asked me to hire her, but I’m afraid she’s not up to the job. I need reliable assistants. To mention only one of my concerns.”

  I wasn’t listening to that. “Why?” I demanded. “Why hasn’t she come in?”

  Martine shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Who knows? It certainly isn’t because she’s sick. All I got was a lame excuse. I’m guessing she’s hoping to be laid off and collect unemployment, considering her pattern of absences. Not to mention that I’ve had to speak to her about her work several times. If she does come back, whenever that is? I’d prefer that you found her another spot, if you’re determined to...keep her.”

  I wasn’t listening. I was already gone.

  The knock on the door made me jump. It was more hammering, really. Something was wrong.

  “Who is it?” I asked through the front door.

  “Hemi. Open the bloody door.”

  The last person I’d expected. The last person I needed to see right now. “I can’t talk.”

  “You’d bloody well better talk, if you’re not trying to lose your job.”

  Oh, no. I unfastened the chain, slid the deadbolt back, and opened up. “How...how did you get in?”

  “How do you think?” There wasn’t one bit of tenderness in the eyes that bored into mine, not that I would have expected any. “Your security is rubbish. I walked in behind a bloke who didn’t even ask me what I was doing here. I could have been anybody.”

  I couldn’t handle his anger, not now. I couldn’t handle him being here. “This isn’t a good time.”

  His face was closed, set, and hard as iron, and the skin prickled on my arms, because this was Hemi at his most formidable. “You’re not at work, and you weren’t there yesterday, either. You didn’t answer my text. How the bloody hell do you expect me to protect your job if you don’t do it?”

  “I tu
rned the ringer off on my phone.” I was getting flustered in spite of myself, even though this was my apartment, my space, and Hemi and I were done. We were done. “Because I couldn’t talk. But...my job? But I told Martine. I told her.” This was the worst thing, the thing I hadn’t dared to think about.

  “What did you tell her? And why do you keep looking back into your apartment?” Something in his face changed again. “Oh, no. You’re joking.” He was walking straight past me, straight to the bedroom, and opening the door.

  A cry from inside, and I was rushing through behind him. “It’s OK, baby,” I said as Karen moaned and rolled over, her arm going up to shield her eyes. “It’s OK.”

  “Ohhh…uhhh…” Karen was fumbling for the plastic bowl, heaving herself to her elbows, and I held her head as she was sick. Nothing to come up, because she hadn’t been able to keep anything down all day.

  I helped her get comfortable again when the sickness had passed, picked up the bowl, and handed her a water bottle. “Try to sip, sweetie,” I coaxed. “Tiny sips. You need to stay hydrated.”

  “Make him go away,” she moaned.

  “I will,” I promised. “Right now. You rest. I’ll be right back.”

  I carried the bowl out of the bedroom, but Hemi had already left. He’d retreated the moment he saw Karen, and I knew why. Because that was way too much real life for him. It was too much for me, too, but I didn’t get to choose.

  “What—” he began.

  “Give me a minute.” I wanted to tell him to leave, that I didn’t need this, not today. But my job...

  So instead, I forced my feet to move to the kitchen sink to wash out the bowl, and didn’t speak to him until I’d returned it to Karen’s side, had seen her resting again, her eyes closed. She’d sleep now, I hoped.

  When I came back out into the living room, Hemi was standing there, staring out the window at the brick wall across the air shaft. At nothing.